


Clocks

by Darling_Mint



Category: High-Rise (2015)
Genre: Blood Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Innocent Reader, Kink Exploration, Lorde music cuz why not, Medical Kink, Multichapter, Psychic Reader, Smut, Stable/secure/smart/sane reader, high rise film, i love high rise that’s why I needed another fanfic, partying and bad choices, reader with powers, slight abo dynamics cuz why not, tom hiddleston - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2019-10-05 21:41:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17332859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darling_Mint/pseuds/Darling_Mint
Summary: When Laing moves into the high-rise, he didn’t expect to lose his mind.  His strange neighbors above and below him he thought he could ignore, but the woman that lived next door was a whole different story.He knew she knew more than she let on, he learned of her numerous nicknames  and of her tendency to be everywhere he is.  But his own habit to be near her, grew more and more as he began to be suffocated in the concrete pillar said of the high-rise.He began to hunger for her, to have her close by to smell her hair or  witness her muscles twitch when he stared at her.  He wished to have her to himself, locked away for only his eyes, wished to adorn her with gifts and pleasure no other can provide.But your knowledge of his needs drove you insane too, little did you know it.  And the clocks ticked away as the high-rise grew more greedy on its inhabitants.  Demanding more and more, until everyone bathed in blood and chaos...Even the little doll next door to Dr. Laing couldn’t handle it.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dr. Richard Laing was a put together man.

  
He always dressed to the nines in a suit and tie, not looking bad when his hair was properly combed back. His car was fairly nice and new, and his job at a school of physiology paid well…especially when he spent his time cracking open heads.

  
But he was well-spoken, well-mannered, well put-together all around. He never held any interest in highly sexualised scandals or affairs, in fact, he stayed loyal to his ex wife until he became bored of her, and the both of them called for a divorce.

  
And at the death of one of his sisters, he figured a move to inner-city London and a new apartment would be best. He’d be closer to his job, closer to everything in fact due to his new residence being downtown, and a new place he would buy himself and not by his wife’s father and mother.

  
And so, Laing waited in the lift as it rose up to his desired 25th floor. He held the semi-heavy boxes in his hands, full of bedroom accessories and kitchenware and other things a house needed but he couldn’t ever think of off the top of his head. The elevator was mirrored, showing infinite versions of himself as he waited and the music played gently, swaying to calming jazz music.

  
And as it dinged, opening the doors, Laing was greeted by an empty beige hallway. Lights were shined above the room numbers, much like a hotel, and the grey carpet below him cushioned his feet in his dress shoes as he walked, glancing at the room numbers as he passed.

  
The doors were all wooden, cut in a very modern style, with a wide doorframe and a silver doorknob much like a hotels. The numbered were in the same silver color, glued to the walls just beside the doors. All of the doors were closed; locked tight by the looks of it. The hall was silent; only jazz music like from the elevator could be heard.

_2507_

  
_2506_

  
_2505_

Laing paused, backing up slightly as he laid the boxes gently on the floor, digging in his suit pocket for his key. He finds it quickly, putting the metal device into the door and unlocking it with ease, pushing open the wooden door and bent down to pick up a single box, walking inside and smiling as he feet felt the shift from carpet to marbled tile. He sat the box down near a large concrete pillar in the middle of his would-be kitchen. Sunlight entered through the massive window over the room, and there was a hallway that mostly likely led to a bedroom and balcony.

  
As Laing ventured back out to the hallway to get the next box, he picks it up, turning to walk inside when he hears a voice.

  
“Are you the new doctor?” It asks, its voice gentle. Laing jumps, slightly startled as he didn’t hear any doors open or close as he turned to face a young woman. She had s/t toned skin that stayed covered under her casual wear consisting of a light sweater, nice shirt and high-waisted jeans. She was barefoot, her nails painted and her arms wear crossed over her stomach almost nervously. She leaned against the side of the door, a knowing smile on her red painted lips and her h/c hair pulled into a simple ponytail. Her eyes were large and e/c, with specks of what Laing swore could be gold. Her skin was flawless, even-toned and not a single blemish or spot in sight…almost doll-like.

  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She says quietly, looking down at her bare feet.

  
“N-no, it’s alright.” Laing says, shifting his box to one arm to offer her his other.

  
“Yes, I’m the new doctor. Robert Laing,”. He introduces. The woman perks up, a smile returning to her face as she gives him her hand as well, enjoying the way it fit into his so perfectly, she shook it in return.

  
“Y/n L/n.” She says, her charming smile in place. “I live next door, so we’re neighbors!” She says. Laing smiles kindly, nodding his head at her as an awkward silence seemed to flow between them. Until she shakes her head almost as if snatching herself from a daze.

  
“The movers take forever to deliver your things…would you like to join me for tea?” She offered kindly, still leaning against the frame, a small smile painted on her lips. Laing smiled, nodding as he rushed inside his apartment.

  
“One moment,”. He says, setting the box down, and returning to the hall to leave his door ajar with a doorstop.

  
“Ah, don’t leave that like that.” You say, stopping him and pointing to the doorstop. “We’ve been having a string of robberies lately. I wouldn’t want you to fall victim on your first day.” You explain. Laing nods, kicking the doorstop away as the door shut firmly, clicking at the lock. He dropped his key into his pocket as he followed you into your apartment, shutting the door behind him.

  
“So where are you from, Doctor,”. She asks, her bare feet patting to the same marbled floor he had in his own home. She was walking towards her kitchen, only hers wasn’t bare, but full of home necessities. There was a blender and a microwave, pots and pans and a refrigerator. Her oven held unused pans that were clean, sitting in the rack patiently as Laing stared through the glass. The sink was full of soapy water, seemingly soaking a few plates.

 

“I lived on the outskirts of London with my ex-wife before we divorced,”. He says, not wanting to branch out further into the subject. She doesn’t say anything as Laing leans against a similar styled concrete pillar in her kitchen, his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

  
“I apologize for the slight untidiness,”. She excuses herself, as she grabs a kettle from a cabinet above her kitchen counter, and grabbing teabags from a box. Laing shrugs, looking around her house further. The furniture seemed comfortable, a beige couch facing a tv, with two brown end tables on each side of it. There were two round, beige, ottomans, presumably for laying feet on when relaxing. There was a clean white rug that swallowed the furniture, but in a neat way.

  
“How do you take your tea?” She asks breaking him from his thoughts.

  
“Just a bit of milk and sugar is fine.” He says almost automatically, looking around her living room, noticing the numerous amounts of clocks on the walls. But Laing wasn’t uncomfortable by it, instead, he felt at ease and relaxed.

  
“Here, we’ll sit at the table.” You say, carrying two mugs from your stove to a sliding glass door. Laing creased his brows, following you as you led him outside to a balcony. It was concrete, matching the rest of the building and had a few plants neatly standing around. The table was square and wooden, brown like the side tables inside, and had a prestige white rug underneath.

  
“Now, you wait here, and I’ll go and get my manual…it’ll help.” You as you slide the doors open to scurry inside and come back out shortly after. Laing at this point, sat in one of your chairs, sipping his tea and was surprised you made it just as he’d asked. Not too milky, not too sweet, it was quite perfect.

  
“Okay, So, welcome do the high rise.” She says with a smile that Laing returns. “Now this is my manual, and you should have one similar.” She explains, handing him the neatly kept booklet with simple font on the cover saying welcome in bold text.

  
“You say similar?” Laing questions, knowing that when he talked to the owner, he had told Laing that all of the room are built the same. You nod your head, sipping your tea. He opens the booklets, seeing the table of contents and flipping through some of the pages noticing the Gym and market, and steps on how to up keep a home.

  
“The rooms that are across from you, reflect your own. The ones next to you are mirrored.” Laing just stares confused, but you smile that charming smile, looking down in your mug.

  
“What I mean is, if my bathroom is on the right side of my hall, then your bathroom is on the left, meaning our showers are separated by a simple wall. Some bathrooms on the higher floors have the glass fogged windows at the tip-top of them, but it just blocks what people can see…not what they hear.” She says, glancing out over the city and the cars below.

  
“What is it you do?” Laing asked. You looked aback at him, setting down your mug.

  
“I babysit for the families on the lower floors. Families like Charlottes and Helens at least.” You take a sip of your tea. “I don’t charge them, Royal says I shouldn’t, so I don’t.” You shrug. Laing creased his eyebrows.

  
“So you don’t make money?” He asks in disbelief. “How are you affording the rent here?”

  
“Royal says as long as I do everything in my power to help the families, I stay for free.”

  
“Royal?”

  
“My uncle…the man who built this place and many more like it in the future.” You look back out over the parking lot, Laing following your eyes as he sees the cranes and the half finished buildings.

  
“He’s a genius. Always thinking to the future…”. You smile to yourself. “His only weakness is that he never thinks about the present.” Laing looked back down at the booklet, setting it back down onto the table.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

  
Sure enough when Laing returned to his own apartment, a booklet laid on his kitchen counter. Exactly the same style and thickness as yours next door. He opened it, noticing how you were right, the rooms were mirrored. His bathroom was right against her own, and their beds were across the walls from each other.

  
His boxes took forever to arrive, another thing his neighbor was right about. One by one they were delivered, his name and their labels of what was inside each one stacked by the huge concrete pillar. Laing stood and smoked a cigarette while he waited on each box to arrive, the constant excuses was that the lift kept failing.

  
But according to the booklet, the “state of the art lift system” shouldn’t have been failing in the first place. And according to the movers, all of his boxes may not be fully delivered until tomorrow.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

 

  
Y/n sat on her balcony, sipping another cup of tea from the same kettle from earlier. She listened to the seagulls fly around and the construction goings on around the other buildings. She sighed, rubbing her forehead and closing her eyes. Royal wouldn’t listen, he wouldn’t pay attention to what happens on the lower floors, or the parties in his own suite on the 40th floor. Turning his cheek at the robberies, murders, suicides, starvation, overall chaos….instead, he drew plans and plans and plans…too busy looking into the future.

  
You sipped more tea. The clocks were telling you something about that doctor. Something about him was…off. Like he had a hidden beast that bubbled beneath the surface. He seemed kind and shy…but the clocks knew better. They knew he had something to hide.

  
But you watched on as Laing spent his weekends in Gym 30 lifting weights, and shopping in Market 30. His boxes still trickled in every now and then, and they just stayed stacked beside the pillar. Weekdays, he drove to work in his nicer than most car, and you watched it repeat this way for about a week. Early for work, Market for dinner, Gym after dinner, shower, bed, and repeat.

  
There was, however, that Saturday.

 

  
**_I remember when your head caught flame_ **

 

That Saturday, where you stepped onto the balcony, a twinge if a headache behind your eyes from the clocks giving you a vision, to water your plants. You peered over the balcony’s between you and Laing, and notice him laying there, presumably nude, the owners manual covering his nether region, and a towel covering his face. You blinked and your face heated up as you looked away quickly, but not before the image of his scalp Ted body was branded into your memories. You pushed your sunglasses further up your nose, remembering the shapes of his muscles as you watered the plants.

  
Then there was laughing from the floor above, a woman’s you knew to be Charlottes, and a man’s you knew to be Richard Wilder. You pushed bile down at the thought, immediately driving the disgusting man from your thoughts. There was a ‘whoops’ then a gasp, and a shattering of glass, followed by a whooshing of fabric you new to be the towel.

 

**_It kissed your scalp and caressed your brain_ **

 

“So Sorry!” She called back down apologetically. You didn’t say anything, instead, tending to the plants. Not like it was any of your business anyway. You heard Laing heavy breath and a chuckle as you heard him stand and russet about.

  
“I’m so sorry!” Charlotte repeats as your headache seems to increase a bit. You needed tea.

  
“I’ll survive.” Laing’s voice echoes.

 

**_And when you laughed, baby it’s okay_ **

  
“I don’t doubt it.” Charlotte says almost flirty. You shrugged, not blaming her. “You’re an excellent specimen.” She compliments. “I thought you were empty.”

  
“Yeah.” You hear his response, “I just moved in,”.

  
And I had dibs first. You smile to yourself, Charlotte was beautiful, no doubt about it, but she always got the good looking ones on her arm first. And Laing was a looker.

  
“I’m Charlotte Melville.” She introduces. You gently take a seat on one of your chairs, rubbing your head, removing your sunglasses.

  
“Hi.” Laing says, almost making you giggle. He was flustered, even though you felt the slight pang of jealousy that he wasn’t flustered because of you.

  
“I’m sorry, I must’ve fallen asleep.” He apologizes.

  
“God I hope we haven’t frightened him off,”. They whisper as you blink.

  
“So what if we have?”  He says back. _Wilder._

  
“I say!” Charlotte shouts back down, as you hear you neighbor open his balcony doors. “Why don’t you come over later and have a drink? I’m having a party!” She invites. You blink, remembering that Charlottes party was in fact tonight and you told her that you would be glad to babysit her son for her.

  
“I’ll try,”. Laing dismissed. You smile to yourself…maybe he got the same danger vibe from her as well?

  
_Doubtful_. The clocks tick.

_**It’s buzzcut season anyway** _

 


	2. Chapter 2

It was Charlotte’s son, Toby, that was the first to vocalize your prime nickname.

  
The clocks told you first of course, when your Uncle first gifted you a square one that hung above your bed. It was a moving in present, and you adored it. So much so, each birthday or Christmas, your uncle bought or made a new clock for you.

  
They named you Doll-face. A simple yet childish endearment that you quickly grew fond of. But you never publicly stated your preferred nickname to the residents, only your uncle. But the afternoon Toby found out, happened to be a moments when the clocks whispered in your ears the goings on of the floors below you where a woman drowned her child in the pool and tossed the body down the shute.

  
According to Toby, you murmured the words doll-face, and he refused to believe your name was anything but that. It was from that point on that he let it slip to his mother, Charlotte, that you were given a nickname. And Charlotte being Charlotte, spread this knowledge like wildfire. Soon enough, your nickname began to morph into others similar such as doll, dolly, doll baby, Barbie doll, baby doll, rag doll, pin-up, paper doll, and your personal favorite, poppy.

  
But after sometime, the nicknames didn’t bother you. Most people probably don’t even remember your real name, but instead, remember 400 variations of pet names to whistle at you when you’ve left your apartment.

  
That’s another thing you didn’t like to do. Leave your apartment.

 

**_I love these roads, where the houses don’t change..._ **

  
You were away from your bubble of stability, away from the clocks and the teabags kept in your cabinets that eased the headaches when they began to stir behind your eyes. You knew yourself to be safe in your room.

  
But today would be an exception, leaving to babysit Toby was one of your favorite pastimes. He was such a sweet little boy, needing to be consoled and not ignored like Charlotte did most of the time. He was quite the little genius as he began to learn more over the years. You even found yourself astounded at what his abilities could lead to. He truly was a figment of the future.

  
So you dressed yourself in comfortable clothing, leaving your apartment and locking it behind you as you made way for the elevator at the end of your hall. Waiting on it, you heard the clinking If glass bottles and you turned surprised to see your neighbor, the doctor Laing fellow, heading your way. He smiles kindly, nodding as he passes by, and you watch him walk to the end of the hall where the trash chutes were located. He paused, probably reading the sign, and then gently dropped his rubbish into the chute, hearing it roll down.

  
It’ll be blocked later. They whispered.

  
“Nappies.” A strange voice snaps you from the clocks. It’s a man, standing in front of the doctor that seemed to come from no where in particular.

  
“I’m sorry?” The doctor asks thrown completely off.

  
“They block up the chute.” He says bluntly.

  
“I don’t have any children…”. The doctor says, still slightly confused.

  
“Good.”The man says. “They urinate in the pool.”

  
“I’ll remember that,”. Laing nods, as the grouchy caretaker waddles back to the shadowy shithole he emerged from. Laing looked at you across the hall. You shrug your shoulders, stepping into the lift as the doors close and it carries you upward.

 

**_And we could talk but there’s nothing to say..._ **

  
You grasp the handles as the lift rises, your headache pounding behind your eyes. Your body felt weak and malnourished as your head spun and you took deep, even breaths to steady your breathing as you felt the vision penetrate your line of sight.

  
‘ Laing laying down on a carpet under a glass table, smoking while he laughs with Richard Wilder. Charlotte sits on her dirty couch, watching him....

In a swift pull of colors, Laing is led to a balcony, and Charlottes whispered harsh secrets and curses into his ears. The whispers get louder and louder, making your ears almost feel like they would curl in on themselves..... ‘ 

  
“Miss?” You blink, eyes focusing on a little girl and her mother waiting for the lift. You released a breath you didn’t know you held, apologizing and stepping from the elevator on unsteady feet. But regardless, you held your head high, carrying yourself to Charlottes apartment at the end of the hall.

  
Behind you, you heard the little girl.

  
“Mommy, is that the lady doll?” Lady doll? That’s a new one.

 

**_We move in between streets..._ **

  
“Hush!” Her mother quiets her, but you don’t mind. You push your hair back behind your ears and stop abruptly at Charlotte door, knocking three times. She greets you, letting you in as you look around and see champagne and glasses already prepared along with martinis and liquor of all kinds.

  
“Toby is in his room, darling. You can stay there with him if you’d like?” Charlotte suggests as you watch her return to her kitchen where she seemed to be setting out boxes of all kinds of cereal.

  
“Oh no, I was wondering if I could take Toby to mine? I promise you he is safe with me.” You ask, fidgeting from foot to foot under her gaze that held no significance of malice or kindness, almost…knowing.

  
“But of course it’s fine! I’d rather him be away from all the partying anyway, but I do love it!” She laughs. You smile, Toby running from his room, arms outstretched.

  
“Miss Y/n!” He shouts excited, hugging you tightly in greeting. You laugh, wrapping you arms around him.

  
“Hello, Mr. Melville,”. You laugh. You raise your head seeing Charlotte watch with a smile on her face.

  
“Darling, you’ll be going to Y/n’s apartment tonight. Behave yourself and mind your manners.” Charlotte reminds him. Toby nods, turning back to you.

  
“Go on, grab it all.” You say with a smile as his face lights up, taking off towards his room.

  
“Thank you again, Y/n, are you sure you don’t want any pay? I know he can be a handful…”

  
“Oh no, Charlotte!” You shake your hands. “I love keeping him for a few, makes me wish I had some of my own if we’re honest, and he’s such a bright person to have around.” You admit, blushing at You admission. Charlotte smiles warmly.

  
“Ah, Yes, he loves spending time with you. Says you help get him the equipment he needs at times.” Charlotte says, rattling around in the kitchen.

  
“Only if he can’t find optional wires.” You wink. Charlotte laughs just as Toby comes from his room, carrying a show box full of who knows what, all you knew, was that you were absolutely ready to entertain is new inventions.

 

“I’m ready.” He says with a huge smile and big eyes gazing up at you. You offered your hand for him to take as he told his mother goodbye and Charlotte thanked you once more.

 

“Here, i’ll move the coffee table and the ottomans and we’ll sit in here.” You say when you close the door to your apartment. You shuffle over, turning the ottomans on their side and rolling them against the wall. You carefully dragged the coffee table with a bit of help from Toby against the wall with the ottomans as he took a seat in the middle of your white rug and sat his box down in front of him.

  
“Now, what’s my little inventor working on?” You ask with prime interest. Toby grins, opening the box and pulling out all sorts of wires and a block.

  
“Radio.” He says, holding up the block that resembled an extravagant radio. You smile.

  
“Does it work?” You ask leaning in to watch as Toby took out tools and more wires, beginning to lay them all out.

  
“Not right now. I can’t seem to get the charges and connections right. I blame all the concrete.” He says, you nod in agreement. “But it will soon!” He smiles, opening up the box and fiddling with the wires inside.

  
“What a clever genius you are,”. You say, scuffling his hair on his head and he playfully pushed it away.

 

**_I’d like it if you’d stay._ **

 

 ———————————————-

  
Laing didn’t really know what to expect when he got to Charlottes party. He figured there wouldn’t be as many people, and clearly, he was wrong.

  
Residents from all over seemed to attend. He’d met a few from lower floors and some from a few high floors that the one he was currently on, and everyone was the same more so. Some were different, such as the very pregnant Helen Wilder, a shorter blonde with board starlight hair and a round face. She wore a lounge dress that fit her loosely and didn’t strangle her baby bump. The same casual wear was worn all around him, leaving Laing to be the only one in a suit.

  
“So, um…”. Laing says awkwardly, standing next to Helen Wilder, holding a glass of bourbon in his hands, listening to the pounding music and trying to listen for a response out of the woman next to him over all the loud chatter.

  
“I’m afraid I’m not very good at this,”. He admits, wanting no more than to rub the back of his neck.

  
“Slotting in?” Helen says, looking to him with a staging grin and nodding when Laing agreed.

  
“I was rather expecting to find a kind of anonymity here,”. He admits further. Or was he looking for you, he didn’t quite know. And quite frankly, ever since he’d meet his lovely next door neighbor, he’d only seen her a few times, her gaze always rested on him for a few moments before she’d look away. Her eyes would just be curious and her lip would be pulled between her teeth as if she was trying to figure something out. But it didn’t bother Laing, her stare wasn’t cold and callous as his ex wife’s had been so many times before.

  
“Don’t worry. People usually don’t care about what happens two floors above or below them.” Helen waves off. Laing sighs, nodding murmuring a “good” before taking a swig of his drink.

  
“Charlottes different. She’s in all sorts of committees here. Her and Dolly.” Laing creased his brows at Helen words. Helen turned to face him, seeing the look of confusion.

  
“Ah, your neighbor. She has nicknames throughout the tower. Dolly, dollface, lady doll…”

  
“Why is that?” Laing asked, but Helen just shrugged.

  
“The only thing I’d think to explain it is she’s very smart. Always knows what going on in this tower.” She says, “Like dolls in dollhouses.”

  
“Right,”. Laing says, catching the woman, Charlottes gaze from across the room. She had a hunger in her eyes much like every woman has had in his presence, and much like other women, it didn’t bother him.

  
“Top off?” Helen asks, beginning to walk away.

  
“Yes, please,”. Laing says, following her down to the kitchen as Helen poured him another drink. She began talking again as Laing looked around the kitchen, noticing how different it was from yours. Everything in this apartment was loud and distracting, everything was sexual and spiritual at the same time, and Laing found himself uncomfortable with the smell of Sage burning through the house. He missed the clean smell of light roses in your apartment

  
“Tennis?” Helen asks as she hands him his Jameson. Laing clears his throat shaking his head.

“Squash, actually.” He says, eyebrows rising ready to explain the differences. Helen nods with a smile as she pours herself a drink, making Robert double-take at her baby bump. But he didn’t say anything when she puts the glass to her lips.

  
“Charlotte told me your tenancy application was byronic.” Helen pipes up again. Robert looked across the room, seeing the woman, Charlotte staring him down hungrily still. Laing held contact that time, feeling a wave of boldness wash over him as he raised his glass to her cigarette and drank, looking away.

  
“So, Doctor, why invest here? Why not closer to the city?” Helen asks, walking from the kitchen to the lounge to lean herself against the wall, as a small child – a little both with a bowled hairstyle – snuggled against her side.

  
“Investment in the future.” Laing shrugs. “I needed somewhere to start clean.” He says.

  
“We’re down below, in the shadows. Where all the real families are.” Laing nods as he catches the eyes of a shorter man coming up beside Helen, holding a buzzard mixed drink with an umbrella poking from the glass. He was in a sweater and his receding hairline seemed to pull his eyelids farther up, making his eyes look wide open.

  
“You blocked the chute.” He says dryly, glaring at Laing. Laing creased his brows in confusion,

  
“I’m sorry?-“

  
“This is Steele.” Helen says disdainfully, rolling her eyes. “He works in teeth,”. Laing blinked, stepping up with his hand out stretched towards Steele, but the middle aged troll didn’t acknowledge his friendly gesture, just holding eye contact with the new doctor.

  
“You don’t know how things work around here, do you?” He sneered, looking Laing up and down with distaste. Laing blinked, lowering his hand.

  
“Um, no. But I’m a fast learner.” He smarts, making a face of false enjoyment as he leaned a bit closer to the Steele man.

  
“I’m an orthodontist, not a homosexual.” Laing blinked as the grumpy man stuck his tongue from his mouth, fishing for his straw as he finds it to pull it into his mouth, still holding the burning eye contact.

  
“Good for you,”. Laing rolls his eyes, patting the man on the back twice before turning back towards Helen.

  
“Steele fixes the children, I’m afraid they eat too many sweets.” She explains quickly as Laing notices the fear in the child’s eyes at her side, staring wide eyed at the Orthodontist.

  
“Helen’s an environmentalist.” Steele adds from behind Laing who had chosen to completely ignore him.

  
“Have you heard of recycling?” She asked excited, but before Laing could properly answer, another child ran between Steele and he, the orthodontist grabbing this one by the shoulder roughly, before the girl could shake it away. She had long wavy hair, and she cuddled into her mother’s side like her brother did.

  
“Helen cares, that’s her thing. What she hadn’t grasped is all of these rotten tooth little imps,”. He sneers. “The women around here would benefit the planet more by keeping their legs crossed.”

  
Laing suddenly got an overwhelming feeling of uncomfortableness, feeling like he could and should be anywhere but where he was standing. Especially when Helen grabbed for his hand, catching him off guard as she guided it to her bloated bump.

  
“This ones late.” Followed by awkward laughing as Laing pulled his hand away slow enough to ale it look like he wasn’t snatching it. Touching other people was something he rarely did. Lose contact wasn’t necessary and overwhelmed him.

  
“Steele?” Helen breaks in. “Is that your wife going into the bathroom with Cosgrove?” Steele’s looks up, seeing where Helen was pointing as Laing looked over as well. A tall slim brunette was sashaying into an open door, whole a tall man with glasses and facial hair holding a camera followed her in with a large impish smile on his face.

  
“Cosgrove reads the news, have you seen him on TV, he’s very good,”. Helen whispers to Laing as Laing shakes his head, telling her he hadn’t had the time to watch a TV recently.

  
“Excuse me,”. Steele says, scampering off, no doubt to his infidel wife. At his absence, Laing Del the wave of discomfort decrease slightly, but still remaining. Even as he and Helen shared a moment of silence before Helens attention fluttered to a man Laing recognized from that morning. A man with dark hair and sideburns, with dark eyebrows and even darker mustache. He wore a sweater and a cigarette hung from his mouth, as the Charlotte woman – Who Laing just realized laid on the couch – slapped his face away.

  
“Injustice, my husband can’t bear it. He’s been trying to make a documentary about it for years…. It I think he’s lost his focus…”. Helen trails off, her eyes seeming to glaze over as she looked off at nothing. Laing didn’t say anything, just taking silent notes as to why none of these people would act of fidelity. They all cheated and sinned and cursed and whined and cried and complained, but no one did anything about it. There was no action. Helen excuses herself politely, but Laing just nodded, glaring over as he finished his drink and his eyes found Charlottes again before he turned elsewhere.

  
But it wouldn’t be the first time he came across her path, Charlottes. He continued to drink and mix and party, he found himself dancing sweaty with a Charlotte and Helen both, something he was never used to do doing, and it was something that made him feel light as he did so, almost like nothing mattered. He felt eerily calm about everything and everybody, even the strange neighbour who they called a doll because of her apparent intuition.

 

And as Charlotte would grab him but he tie, and parade him around all night whispering sins into his ears he enjoyed it. Enjoyed it as if he’d never partied in his life. Making him feel stupid for not partying while he received his masters and doctrines and ph.d’s. Charlotte whispered promises of money and sex, paranoia curling through his veins at the truth of it.

  
And although he spent his night with another, all Laing could think back to were the unique and strange nicknames they gave his neighbour.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m back on my bullshit ladies and gentleman :)

Laing dreamt about his strange neighbor that night.

  
She wore a short red dress and heels that buckled around her ankles, she wore a fight attendants cap and an ascot around her prestine neck. In his dream, he danced with her, her hips against his own as he gripped her for dear life. There was laughter and giggles and slight moaning and a gentle spark to every touch. He was enveloped in her scent of strawberries and sweet cream, and couldn’t decipher why he heard ticking in the distance of his dreams…

  
But Laing dismissed these contrary images as his drinking too much. He figured he must’ve reached our and touched his lamp in the middle of the night, for the light bulb didn’t yet have a lampshade protecting its harshness…slight electrocution was to blame. And for the ticking…his alarm clock lay by his bed.

  
So when he rose that morning, feeling sweaty and disoriented and hungover still in the same clothes from the night before, Laing popped a few painkillers and went on about his morning, grabbing a kettle and filling it with water to boil, spooning tea into it while he lit the gas stove with a match.

  
He left it there, walking back to his bedroom to shower and change his clothes, spraying in his deodorant and pouring himself his tea, adding a splash of milk and sugar before packing up his briefcase and grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter. He left without humming or uttering a single word.

  
As for his work at the school of physiology, it was for the most part…uneventful.

  
At least that’s what he was currently telling himself as he stood with a dead head on his table and 3 students in front of him for a lesson.

  
“58, Male, schizophrenic, myocardial infarction.” He summarized dryly as one of the 3 students, a young boy who Laing only knew of by his last name, Munrow, laughed and mocked.

  
“A hell of an old fart wasn’t he?” He chastised, the two students beside him, two women, laughing awkwardly.

  
“Respect,”. Laing’s voice rang over that of his students, “Shouldn’t be set aside for natural feelings of revulsion.” He clarifies, tapping his fingers impatiently on his desk. But it was from there, Laing’s boring day began; slipping into autopilot as he shut out emotions and fought, rambling on about the same speech of mental illness and steps to lobotomizing a human head.

  
The smell of blood, to him at a young age, never bothered him. It was raw, natural, thick and red, and was a substance he found interest in as he grew older by the passing years. Some fainted, some became dizzy or gasping, but Laing was enthralled. Even then as he unintentionally looked down at his clean white lab coat, noticing the few dots of blood.

And it wasn’t until he heard a crumpled thump from the thick haze of his mind did he realized a student fainted. Glancing up over the table, he saw it was Munrow…karma. The two women looked down at the floor where he lay and Laing removed his gloves sighing, walking over to wake the student.

  
“Munrow?” He called, as eyes rolled beneath the thin skin of his student’s head. “Munrow?” Laing called out once more, calmly, even as the two female students stood chattering about calling an ambulance. The students eyes fluttered open, confused and unsure as Laing blinked once and the women above him shut up.

  
“You’ve taken a fall.”

 —————————————————————

  
It was an hour later when Charlotte invited him for dinner.

  
He put on a new suit and tie, ran his fingers through his hair and took the elevator above one floor, appearing at her apartment door, 2605. He knocked once and waited before he heard giggles and laughter from the other side, and the just as swiftly, the knob turned, revealing the woman of the hour.

  
And a whirlwind, Charlotte led him to her balcony, which was painted with moonlight and stars, and held dinner for two on its table. Laing took a seat, splaying his legs out as Charlottes open-sided shirt showed him a lovely view as she poured him a glass of wine. Laing dragged on his cigarette, feeling the itching feeling of discomfort in his slacks.

  
He wasn’t by any means attracted to Charlotte. He was attracted to her body.

  
A woman’s body to a man is the ultimate goal. Women, like his ex wife, can become easily enamored with the idea of love. His ex wife called it cruel, called it manipulating, but he called it life. He didn’t care about the needs of a fretting woman, he couldn’t care less.

  
His neighbor too.

  
Laing found her desirable, found her worthy of sex…but he didn’t find her mind or her voice attractive. No, it’s all in the physical aspect, no fool has time for the mental pieces.

So Laing couldn’t help himself from undermining his dinner, and leaping for Charlotte instead. The women wanted to wrap him in conversation, but Laing already knew what he wanted.

  
So when he laid her on that table and hiked up her revealing attire, he ignored her words of, well herself. All she talked about was herself. And she didn’t shut up until after he had his belt undone and ramming her into the table as the glass rattled and she whimpered, loosing her words in her throat.

  
Laing growled, the warmth and tightness wrapped around him was too familiar. Nothing about it was pulling him closer to the edge, nothing lit a spark in him. Almost as if he were some depressed teenager that only masturbated for the release of dopamine in the brain.

  
“I heard your sister died recently,”. Was all it took for him to wrap his hand around her throat and squeeze the sides, causing her to yelp in alarm, and scare the everliving shit out of her, making her cunt tighten on reflex as he groaned and ignored her.

  
“Some say I look just like her,”. That made Laing stutter in his thrusts as he lifted her legs higher around his neck, making his thrusts short and sharp. He was finally beginning to get close as he grabbed for the nipple peeking from her opened shirt. He pulled roughly, enjoying her pained yelp as he moaned gravelly. He was close, so close, almost….

  
“Mother?”

  
Laing pulled away from Charlotte, his core burning from its lack of release and his dick throbbing from rejection. Laing pulled his pants up in time for the balcony doors to slide open and a young boy step from behind the curtains. Charlotte tucked her chest back into her shirt and ran her fingers through her hair.

  
“Toby? Darling, where’s Y/n?”

  
“-I’m here!” Laing watched you appear once more, wearing casual clothing like the day he met you, holding an overfilling box of wires and junk. Your hair was in a pony tail, and your feet were bare again. But even as you glanced at him, he saw the flush hit you cheeks at the image of Laing still redressing himself properly. You cleared your throat.

  
“I-I was helping him gather his wires for bed and-“. You shuddered, possibly thrown off by the scene in front of you. He sensed a bitterness from you, even as you crossed your arms over your chest and looked back into Charlottes apartment.

“- ah, don’t worry about it, dear. Toby, get to bed,”. Charlotte says, pulling out a cigarette. “Ah, and you can go home, love. I’m staying for the night.”

  
“But, Mother-“

  
“To bed, dearest.” Charlotte said a little more firmly. Laing snuck another glance at his neighbor, seeing her eyebrows creased in thought and her lip between her teeth. The sight made his loins lurch..all until he managed to look away.

  
“What about my batteries?” Toby whines.

  
“I haven’t forgotten,”. Charlotte tuts, pulling on her cigarette. She pats him on the head one last time before giving him a kiss on the forehead and shooing him away as she turned back to face him, just in time for him to gather a cigarette if his own. He watched you put your gentle hands on Toby’s shoulders, and with a quiet “come,” you led him back inside.

  
“He’s smart as a whip.” Charlotte states proudly, finally tearing Laing eyes from your back and to his lighter. “I like to call him The Little Professor, and he hates it,”. She smiles, laughing lightly to herself, and turning to walk back through the curtains and into her home. Laing pulls his cigarette from his mouth, not even bothering to release the smoke on the inside in a pleasant blow.

  
“Are you going?” He’d asked, and Charlotte turned halfway around, with a small smirk on her face and cigarette in one hand, and her other on her hip. She just watched Laing, waiting for him to finish whatever he was going to say to make her stay…even if he felt conflicted about wanting her body.

  
“I-I thought we were doing…this,”. He motions around the balcony and out over the railing. He subconsciously rubbed his bottom lip…a tick he’d always had when confronted with more than awkward citations.

  
“We’ve done it.” Charlotte shrugs, a smile graces her lips. “You know, you look much better without your clothes on?” Laing didn’t say anything, no longer wishing to entertain the obvious sex the two were having moments ago – the very thing he had wanted to finish – especially if he knew he was no longer benefiting from putting up with this woman. The nervous tick danced away on the breeze, making Laing feel foolish for letting her see such a childish side of him.

  
“You’re lucky.” She’d said, but to Laing it just sounded contradictory. “Not many people do.”

  
And with that, she simply walked back inside, with the most quietest tipping of her toes, not making a single sound. The curtains bellowed for a moment in her wake, but Laing rolled his eyes and took two leisurely steps towards the balcony’s railing. He took one last drag of his cigarette and flicked it out over the railing, watching the dimming ember fall down towards the parking lot. He then turned to walk back inside, but not bothering to hide the noise. He shut the doors firmly behind him, walking straight back through charlottes apartment, and out the front door.

 

——————————————————

  
It was hard hearing your front door shut firmly behind you. You ground your jaw in frustration and confusion, hating the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swarming up in your right now. Everything was so jumbled and lost in translation, you couldn’t bloody think!

  
You stormed through your apartment, and straight into the kitchen, feeling a dull pain in the back of your head from everything. You filled the kettle and cut on the stove, and fished for two teabags in the cabinet. While the water warmed, you stomped to your bedroom, taking your day clothes off, and changing into cotton shorts and a cotton tank top, not even feeling bothered to shower. You rubbed your face and glared at your reflection in the mirror above your dresser, feeling the anger spike in your emotions, and the temptation to punch the mirror to shards made your arm twitch. You balled your fist, turning away from the mirror, and felt your eyes begin to warm.

  
A heat similar to the whistle of a ready kettle, swarmed inside you. You felt your blood flush your skin around your toes and back, feeling it crawl up your neck and into your cheeks and ears. You felt your pores open all at once, and sweat break like a butterfly over your nose and cheeks, and fluttering into your hairline. Your eyes feel like boiled water, as a lone tear escapes your shut lids. Then another, and another, then you’re crying silently.

  
**_I can almost see it_ **

 

You try to wipe them away as they stream down your face, your muscles going lose and your legs dragging you to the kitchen as you try to make your uneven breaths as quiet as possible. You set out a small teacup, laying the teabags inside, and carefully pouring the hot water in. You turned off the stove and pushed the kettle onto the counter to cool the pot. You took yourself and your tea to the beige couch and curling up under a blanket, staring around at nothing in particular as she gingerly sipped her tea.

 

**_The light at the beginning of the tunnel, and they tell me that I’m dreaming_ **

 

Now with her mind much calmer than it was after her initial first sip, she took a deep breath, and wiped the wet tracks from her face. She remembered the clocks telling her to keep a silent mind, that way it would reflect her silent home, and to leave behind things we think we must desperately hold onto and trust purely in the energy on the inside. She’d scared herself. She’d never been so emotionally affected like that…never so attached to some – albeit handsome – stranger. The clocks helped her prevent from having such issues, all the ties to emotion and even basic humility was set to the side more often than not.

  
The warm, hot, anger and all its envy. The jealousy she felt, seeing the handsome neighbor struggle to tuck his shirt back into his slacks, and struggling to straighten his appearance. The woman, Charlotte, trying to push her breast back under her shirt to conceal her activities from her young son.

  
She found herself gripping her cup a little too much, and instantly lightened her grip on the dainty porcelain.

  
‘Calm down,’ they’d said. She shut her eyes with a deep breath and listened for the gentle clicking of the clock in the walls, all tickling in different rhythms and times…

 

**_When they talk I hear their ghosts, every word they say to me_ **

 

A sliver of fear ran its course through you during your meditation. The fear that the tower was finally getting to you, that the strings of the puppet masters were stating to tether themselves to you. Forcing you to give in to the man-eating mentality of the towers-

  
‘We won’t let it.’ They whispered firmly. ‘We refuse to let the towers take you’

  
You open your eyes, your tea all gone and drank. You rub your eyes and yawn, rising from the couch and throwing away the teabags, and setting the cup in the sink to be washed in the morning. You silently padded off to your bathroom to wash your face before bed.

  
Flicking the light on, and turning the tap on, you soaped up a rag and gently washed your face. Rinsing quickly, you reach for the towel hanging on the rack to dry your face. Standing up straight, you turned the tap off, hearing the pipes mutter and groan, making the tap shake slightly. You glanced over at the shower, seeing where the curtain was still slightly opened. Above the shower was a cutout in the dark blue tile, in the shape of a rectangle, and just big enough to resemble the size of a mailbox installed in a door.

  
Walking towards it with a newfound curiosity and knowledge of your next door neighbour, you ran your fingertips over the smoothed concrete on the inside of the rectangle. Of course the opening was nothing more than a vent for the showers, and led up the inner concrete walls of the high rise and out of the top pillars in your uncles garden. There, they used the steam to keep it their garden.

 

 ‘Close it’ They’d murmured.  You swallowed, a sliver of something unfamiliar and uncomfortable slithering down your back.  You pulled the thick plastic door down, shutting the compartment.  Taking a deep breath, you went off to bed.  

 

 ** _I just pray the wires aren’t coming-_**  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m baaaack

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll try to post about once a week. Most of the story will be based around the highrisempbie more than anything else tbh. 
> 
> Also most songs as you will be able to tell will be Lorde inspired bc her music is great and gives me dystopian vibes.


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